Twenty Seven Bullets
by Zevious
Summary: Claire Lyons finds herself knee-deep in Cam and Derrington's secret romance, with Massie on her sent like a blood hound. How can she keep it a secret, with the Pretty Committee slowly cracking apart?
1. Coffee Shop Soundtrack

Claire Lyons was sprawled across the pink and black checkered lounge chair, bug-eyed but very so in fashion glasses precariously perched atop the bridge of her thin nose.

Next to her lay Massie Block, haphazardly flopped in the most un-Massie way she had ever seen, lathered in a prominent and expensive suntan brand. Alicia had followed suit to slather a helpful of the lemon scented lotion onto her shoulders.

Sadly, the smooth contours of the sky, the shimmery surface of the pool, and the quiet (if it was considered quiet over the loud blare of Massie's Blink 182) of their tanning session was the last thing on Claire's mind.

"—and Cam?" Massie pointedly looked at her, and Claire's eyes widened like a dear in headlights; she hadn't heard a word.

"Uh, err..." And with a roseate blush, "He's good."

Massie raised a manicured brow, but said nothing, continuing to babble about Derrington, Claire hid the rest of her face behind the white ends of her faux Gucci's, trying to fight the red that blossomed behind her cheeks.

Massie stopped mid-rant, abruptly turning her head from Kiersten and Dylan to swivel in Claire's direction with a pointed glare.

Again, Claire paused in her mental distress, to put on what she hoped to look like a genuine interest in the topic of Massie's choice.

A pause, then, "Your getting red, Claire. Put some sunscreen. Alicia?"

Alicia, to the far right, threw the bottle of sunscreen, which Kiersten caught with her eyes closed. The blond then handed it to Massie, who in turn splattered it onto Claire's bright red face (mind the fact it wasn't due to sunburn whatsoever) while the rest of the girls giggle-laughed at the result.

Beneath her embarrassment, Claire sighed. She hoped, at least, Derrington and Cam were enjoying their day.

Derrington had spent most of the afternoon watching Cam's eyes, the left was as if someone had caught the colors of the sky and placed them into the swirl of an iris, and the right, of sparkling emeralds.

The movie was over mere minutes ago, but if asked directly Derrington couldn't quite remember the result, or, for that matter, the plot in general.

"What?" Cam paused, placing his fry back down and eying Derrington with curiosity. "Do I have something on my face?"

While it would have been polite to answer, he leaned over to brush dark hair from the other's eyes, licking off a speck of ketchup from the edge of his lips.

"Not anymore." He smiled cheekily.

Cam, for his part, only blushed furiously, while darting his eyes around to their fellow diners. Who, luckily, had not caught sight of Derrington's more promiscuous activities.

"Not in public!" He hissed, even inwardly pleased, the last thing he needed was for someone they knew to see that.

Derrington bit back his retort. Cam genuinely liked him, he was sure of that, but the question was how long it would take the boy to accept that fact? Not only had it taken him months for the ebony-haired boy to agree to a date, but just holding hands had taken several tries and several "I'm not ready yet", and they hadn't even kissed yet. If he wasn't Cam, Derrington would have given up by now. But Cam was his everything, it didn't matter how long it took.

"Alright." He sighed, grabbing his drink in anger and opting to slurp it down then continue his ministrations. No matter how much he wanted the latter...

"You think Claire's got it down?" Cam asked softly, pushing back a curl of dark hair from his bright, bright, eyes. "She won't tell, you think?"

"She better not." Derrington growled. "It'll be funny to see Massie's face. But..." He took a quick glance at Cam's horrified face. "It wouldn't be worth it."

The boy shifted uneasily, and he noted that Cam must still be worried intensely about this 'secret' being pried into the open. "She won't." Derrington smiled encouragingly. "Claire's good at keeping secrets."

"Even from Massie?" Cam pointed out, knowing how the whole lot of them were glued to hip.

Derrington shrugged noncommittally. "I believe in her." He cowed, rather vaguely.

Cam bit his lip in worry, Derrington swooned at the gesture, and beneath Massie's towering form, Claire shriveled and cursed both of them.

* * *

Claire heaved a sigh and dropped her backpack to the floor with a heavy thud. Layne, who had been twirling her oddly distorted and multi-colored drink with an interested eye, snapped to attention at the sound.

"Where have you been?" She crowed, hands on her hips before she noted Claire's sullen gaze and slightly burned shoulders.

Claire flopped into one of the ice cream parlor's wiry, vexatious chairs. "With Massie..." She trailed off, pointedly avoiding what they were up to. She tried to move into a more suitable, comfortable sitting position but was denied.

But obliviously, Layne twittered onto the subject Claire had tried tactfully to avoid. "Doing what?"

"It was supposed to be a relaxing day by the pool." Claire noted with some disappointment how none of the pretty committee dared to go into the pool, but rather, to sit beside it. "Instead, I had to deal with Massie attacking me half the time."

"About?" Again, Layne pried.

"Oh, just stuff." Claire hedged. Noting Layne's owlish gaze, she changed the subject. "But how are you? And the Witty committee?"

"Good as ever!" Layne puffed with pride, before deflating. "Kristen, though..."

Claire furrowed her brows, taking a sip of Layne's drink, gagged, and then began, "What's wrong with Kristen?"

"Wrong?" Layne cocked her head. "Nothing. She promised she'd get Dempsey for me from Massie."

Claire choked. "W-What?"

"I like him, okay?" Layne scowled hotly. "I mean, Massie gets _everything. _I'm not going to stand aside and let her take Dempsey too."

The least privileged of the Pretty committee only looked at her friend skeptically, shaking her head. She'd have to talk to Kristen about this.


	2. Six Feet Under the Stars

Claire had realized quite a lot about herself in these couple weeks. One, she was certainly not qualified to be a spy, or a secret keeper, or anything that involved direct eye contact with Massie while keeping a straight face while trying to delay the inevitable. She was also considerably inept in dealing with damage control. Luckily, her skills had not been tried in this particular department, well, until this particular moment.

Derrick Herrington's chiseled butt—while, admittedly a work of art, was still hanging off a tree and projected onto the trailers that had once been marked by the PC—came into view and Claire wanted to take him by the head, ruthlessly, and shove his face into the concrete, just like they used to do in Florida.

When no one did that, Claire was straineously under the impression that no one in the Pretty Committee, and for that matter, anyone in Winchester had ever really gave a boy a good smack down. Claire had done in countless times in Florida, infamous for her ball-shot and left hook. She was sorely tempted to shed her layers of fashionable luxurious skin and slip on her old battered kicks and a swim team summer oversized shirt, and drop kick Derrington in the face.

What did he think he was doing?

Wasn't the entire point of entrusting Claire with their secret to use her as a buffer between Massie and his relationship with Cam? While sure, Claire and Cam were close (they did have a fling a while ago, if a fling was considered pre-adolescent groping and embarrassing eye-locks across the table when they thought no one was looking) it was Derrick who had tugged her to the side and sincerely told her his intentions with Cam, and then proceeded to _beg _her to help them out.

And he was just going to ruin it like that?

Claire forced laughter as Dylan started to pretend to pinch his butt. Massie looked less then enthused, part mortified, and part angered beyond belief.

The day wasn't starting out well.

"I don't understand what you thought you were doing." Claire snapped irritably, as she popped the coke and sunk to the shining tiled floor, head on the lockers.

Derrington looked the opposite of what she fervently believed he should. "What's the problem?" He shrugged with a grin, typical _moronic fool_. "I mean, I was just having some fun—

"Some fun, which has officially put you on the PC's watch list." To rub the point in, Claire poked him with her finger. "You've been marked. By Massie. Which means none of us can get you. Which really isn't a big deal, seeing as though your—

Derrick cut her off with a ferocious glare, incarnadine rising to his cheeks, to which Claire rolled her eyes.

"Shut up!" He interrupted.

Claire didn't understand what the big deal was.

"—anyway that's not the point." Claire conceded as she took a sip of the delicious mix of carbonated soda and calories. "The point is, Massie is going to be watching everything you do. I know for a fact that she already uses Alicia's relationship with Josh to her advantage."

"Josh spies on me?" Derrick's eyes widened with no small amount on incredulous disbelief.

Claire made a vague noise. "More like tells Alicia everything, and she tells it to Massie."

"So a chain of gossip."

"Well, yeah." And then, with a vapid, confused glance. "What did you think the PC was all about?"

"I dunno, clothes and fashion and giggling while painting nails," Derrington was nearing hysterics. "Not like a command chain of girls who are ruled like a freaking monarchy."

"Point."

Derrick looked around the deserted hallway, one they chose mainly due to its out-of-the-way location and the fact that its inhabitants were usually LBRs, the lowly kind Massie wouldn't bother with, and the PC would never be spotted dead here. Behind the windows the sun seared the sky, turning the edges of Derrick's tousled hair gold.

"Listen," He began softly, and Claire was met with the incorrigible feeling of incessant longing, wishing someone would feel such raw emotion for her that they'd have that look that Derrick wore on his face now. "I'm taking Cam out for ice cream today. Cover for me?"

"Today?" Claire echoed. "I dunno what we're doing, but sure." And then, skeptically. "What about your detention with Dylan?"

Derrick smirked. "No worries about that one. I've got a plan."

Claire finished her coke and got to her feet, dusting off her outfit and gave a twirl so Derrick could check her butt for dirt. Massie would be suspicious if she returned from pampering herself in the bathroom looking like she'd been rolling around on the floor.

"I hope so." Was all she said, as she turned to get back to class.

* * *

That afternoon found Derrington with a plan and a scored "date" with Dylan Marvil.

If Claire had known this was part of the master plan, she'd have tried more to prevent it.

"Dylan Marvil?" Cam echoed skeptically, but truthfully Derrick was more interested in the way he licked off ice cream then anything.

After that cute pink tongue receded, Derrick found his brain returning. "Yeah." He shrugged. "I mean, you've got Claire, I figured I'd need a you know, a fake girlfriend too."

There was a half-frown beginning on the boy's face, brows furrowed. Derrick was entranced with the vibrant coruscate of colors beneath dark lashes, ocean water and emerald.

"But Claire's…" Cam trailed off for the right word. "Well, Claire knows about us, its different. Dylan's a serious part of Massie's group, y'know? I just think she's… excessive."

Derrick blinked, not expecting to be shot down so quickly. The feeling quickly turned into a twisted sort of satisfaction as a smirk grew on his lips. "Are you… jealous?"

"What?" Cam flushed pink.

Derrick swooned.

_Adorable._

"O—Of course not!" Cam insisted heatedly. "I just don't want to get any more involved with them then we have to."

"I get ya." Derrick nodded, quickly slipping his hand into Cam's free one, and watched as the boy stilled. Eventually, after they walked further, and no other life forms aside from trees and squirells came up, the boy relaxed. "Don't worry about it." The blonde smiled, and the darker haired of the two felt a flush on his cheeks again at the flash of teeth.

He could remember Derrick's face, flushed with rain and the lugubrious tumult of clouds above them, soccer field wet and scorned into a shallow ocean of murky water, the goalie's face smudged with dirt and his chest heaving as he ran to catch up to him, insisting fervently _"I meant what I said—" _ His gloved hand reaching for Cam's, even as the brunette pulled away. Cam's heart racing, Derrick's sunshine hair slick to his face, droplets sticking to his lashes and his face leaning to whisper breathlessly into his ear _"I like you too, Cam."_

That wasn't the result Cam had been expecting when he had blurted out his feelings for the other soccer player, an event which he had immediately regretted upon seeing the wide-eyed look the blonde goalie was wearing.

"Damn, there's my sister."

Sammi's car was parked inconspicuously at the end of the street, sleek and much too posh for the suburban middle-class park they were walking through.

Cam reluctantly let go of Derrick's hand to wave goodbye and use some excessive shoulder clapping and typical shoulder punching man-goodbye instead of the romantic, goodbye kiss he really wanted.

He wasn't expecting the taller boy to envelop him in his arms, tucked under his chin and pressed into the scent of the other boy's shirt. He could feel the wiry muscles from years of soccer training and workouts and the tendons of his neck, heartbeat furious and resting beneath his cheek, separated by the flimsy fabric of Derrick's Volcom "Houston, we have a volcom" shirt.

"Derrick," He began softly. "What are you—

"She'd find out anyway." Was the immediate reply, and the other boy's hands gripped him tighter before pulling away.

Derrick wasn't ready for the smile that washed over Cam's face, a pleasant, sincere quirking of his lips, the sky under lowered lashes and the slightest spray of freckles around his nose. He felt a blush crawling beneath his cheeks when he realized that smile was directed solely for him.

"I'll see you later?" A tilt of the head and Cam's brown hair was sliding into his face, fringe just above his eyes.

Derrick nodded. Hell yes. "Have fun with Claire, don't get in trouble."

He chanced a quick kiss to the side of Cam's cheek, prepared for the startled hitch in the boy's breath that sent him reeling, and smirked as he took in the boy's dazed expression as he walked to his car.

He closed the door and Sammi put the car into first gear.

Her smile resembled the Cheshire Cat. "He's cute, little brother." Was her smirk, which looked quite a lot like his.

If possible, Derrick flushed more.

"Derrick Harrington," She began again, adjusting her glasses. "You never told me you had a thing for cute little soccer players. He looks familiar. Does he play on your team?"

"Sammi, shut up." He buried his hands in his face, resigning himself for a long and embarrassing car ride of torments.

"Alright, alright." Derrick was surprised his sister was so charitable not to pry. "I won't tease you." But her look said otherwise. "That one's a keeper, I guess. More then those annoying bratty girls, anyway." They pulled to a stoplight and Sammi adjusted gears again, before looking at her mortified little brother.

"You really like him, huh?" She sighed with a smile.

Beneath his hands, the boy nodded.


	3. Stay Awake

_This could be AU. Or maybe not. I'm not really going for the particulars. (Its obviously AU to a point, judging by the fact that Derrick and Cam DO NOT hook up and have steamy man sex at any point of the books) but I mean, like I'm pretty sure Plovert is on crutches, but I don't really give a shit about that.

* * *

_

Despite Claire's insistence to stay for the soccer game, the girl's were forced into a conclusive round of Pinkberry, in which Claire spent the majority of the afternoon shifting in her seat and looking all around like she was going to be sick. A round of gossip download would no doubt lead to a round of Alicia telling all about Derrington in an entirely sly way. Claire wondered if Alicia new more then she let on, but decided against it. She could only hope that Derrington and Cam were at least enjoying themselves.

Which they were, intensely.

Or at least Derrington was.

There was nothing better then an entire afternoon watching Cam own ass on the field. The coach had made a dangerous move by subbing their usual left wing for Kemp, who was much faster and agile, but not as much of a power player. Coach probably thought Cam in center was overkill, anyway. Hotz was playing right wing, and he had Plovert on defense (Derrick wasn't sure if this was wise or not, because Plovert had a suspicious attraction to red cards).

The groundhogs were prepared for the offensive over power, but weren't ready for the steel defense that the Briarwood boys were known for.

Derrick spent half the afternoon wishing he was in goal, because watching the sub goalie was like kicking a crying kid. Satisfying, but kind of made him guilty. As the guy missed another pitiful shot to their goal, Derrick supposed that this would at least make the team a little more aware of all the shit he had to put up with. Sure, Briarwood's defense was stellar, but they had a way of _always _blaming Derrick for every shot (usually, it was JT's fault, because he usually played an offensive defense and left holes in the lineup)

Anyway, he spent the other half watching and enjoying himself, cheering Cam on and admiring the lean contours of his body in action, muscles tense and leaning back with a smug expression because _that body belonged to him_.

Course, Cam didn't know that.

"Good job today." He smiled genuinely as Cam trudged closer, hoisting his bag that was roughly equal to him in size.

"Thanks." He plopped it down and sprawled on the bleacher beside the blonde. "Had fun watching?" The brunette teased with a smirk.

Derrick rolled his eyes, before a cat smile made its way onto his face. "Would you believe me if I told you I liked watching your butt?"

Cam swallowed audibly and his cheeks flushed pink, as Derrick howled with laughter.

"I—I…"

Derrick tossed an arm over Cam, and to anyone but each other the gesture would have looked completely platonic. "I'm kidding, sweatheart." He whispered against the boy's ear, while said boy fidgeted uncontrollably and startled with an audible gasp.

"D—" Cam gathered his wits slowly with a flushed face. "Don't joke like that!"

He abruptly pushed the older boy off, and Derrick continued to chuckle at his embarrassment.

It wasn't his fault, though.

He never really asked Derrick if he'd ever had other relationships. And not the kind like he was pretending to have with Dylan—the kind he had with Cam. But Derrick always seemed to know what to do, when to hold his hand, when to give him a hug, what kind of dates would make them look more like good friends rather then a couple. Cam was completely lost. Before Derrick, he didn't even _think _of boys that way.

Of course, Derrington wasn't really joking, but he only smiled enigmatically at Cam's questioning bright eyes that peaked beneath the dark fringe of his hair.

"Anyway," The brunette began hotly, more because he was kind of irritated at his own embarrassment. "My parents are going to be here any minute."

"Alright." Derrick nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As Cam got up, he was kind of disappointed he didn't get a hug. Of course, displays of affection probably weren't the wisest idea at the moment, but there still was a tug of reluctance as he remembered the warm muscled arms that came around him and the beating thrum of Derrick's heart against his ear.

Instead, he gave a sad grin. "Make sure to ice that leg, okay?" And then, with a genuine laugh. "We don't want Kyle in goal for the next game."

Derrick snorted derisively. "God knows what that would do for our record."

Cam's laughter rang through the bleachers as he hopped down onto the sidewalk.

Derrick watched him go, hair a tousled skew of chocolate in the waning sunlight, the sky burning claret red as the sun became a benign presence on the horizon. Derrick was caught up in the slim contours of his body, the mobile shoulders lifting beneath the soccer jersey, the windy hair and cloudy eyes.

As Cam walked to his car he couldn't help the nagging feeling wrestling in his stomach at the very thought of Dylan. Not that he had anything against the girl. Out of the entire clique, sans Claire, he supposed she was one of the more manageable. As was Kristen (he may or may not be biased, seeing as though any soccer player, even one who spent a considerable amount of time judging her outfits, was a plus in his book). Alicia and Massie, he supposed, were too caught into their whirlwind of clothes and outrageous gossip. While the whole crew was attractive… he shook his head.

Anyway, the problem with Dylan was that she most likely had serious intentions. If what Claire told him about their circle of friends was true, then Dylan would never stick her neck out like that unless she was serious about Derrick. Which was, well, kind of a problem.

Cam walked into his house, his mother puttering about in the kitchen, and called an undecipherable mumble of response to her lyrical, sing-song greeting.

He trudged up the stairs and bypassed the room with blaring indie rock, Suis la Lune on the tip of his tongue and the latest poster for Anthroplogie Anthology taped haphazardly to the door, where Harris was probably rocking out with his thick skull-candy headphones. He dropped his soccer duffel bag onto the floor with a dull thud, and looked around his dark blue room. Clothes rose in waves on his floor, and he supposed eventually they'd get fed up and oust him. He threw his phone into the sea of white blankets on his bed, and flopped onto it.

His phone rang, "_I don't practice Santeria, I don't got no crystal ball—_

Derrington had a strange way of always having some sort of sixth sense which allowed him to know whenever Cam was becoming indecisive, or unsure. His texts always ended up cheering him up regardless.

What Cam _really_ wanted to do, though, was find out if he was really, seriously overreacting, or that he was spot on. He wanted to ask Claire what she thought of all this.


	4. Can't Be Saved

_T for swearing! Cause teenage boys have a vocabulary built mainly off of a variety of eight or so words. _

Tuesday, September 22nd found Cam hoisting his bag over his shoulder as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His dark hair was tousled and askew on top of his head, curls brushing against his cheeks and ears. He tore out of his room and pedaled down the steps, not bothering to greet his mother, who was calling for him.

"Harris!" He wheezed. "You asshole." He opened the passenger door and plopped in as Arcade Fire blasted through the speakers and ruined the bass in the back.

His older brother chuckled, shaking his head to sweep dark hair out of his eyes. "You're like a fucking girl, yo. What takes you so god damn long to get ready, anyway?"

Cam shrugged. Secretly, he had been texting Derrick, and had gotten side tracked. Officially, he had been downloading last-minute music from the computer. "I wanted to download some US Royalty onto my iPod."

His brother looked mildly impressed. Aside from the fact US Royalty was part-chick part-soft rock, they were fairly acceptable.

He shifted the car into first gear as the V8 engine roaring to life as he pummeled down the street with a colossal roar. Cam gripped the sides in silent prayer, eyes wide as the Dodge veered into a dangerously sharp left turn. Harris didn't seem to notice, one hand on the lining of the open window, the other five o'clock and limp on the steering wheel. Eventually, as Cam adjusted to the partially-homicidal driving, he was comfortable to itch his elbow just where the pinstripe blue long sleeve had been rolled up. His jeans were ripped at the knees already, he noticed with dismay. This would be the third pair he'd have to buy a new one for.

"How's that chick of yours?"

Harris was probably just trying to make polite conversation with the younger brother he usually didn't talk to.

Cam's face lost its pallor.

"Err—what?"

"That girl." Harris motioned with one hand to his hair, which resembled Cam's bed head closely. "Y'know, blonde? Kinda meek looking?"

"Claire?" Cam said with hesitation.

Harris nodded. "Sure. How's she doing?"

"Good I guess." Cam shifted uncomfortably It was like a double kill, not only were relationship advice-conversations incredibly awkward (especially with Harris, who had a way of making it a thousand times worse then it could be) but every question was as if Harris was stabbing closer and closer to the right direction, which would be—_Cam had no intentions of dating Claire, or, for that matter, girls in general._

After another round of painstaking interrogation, Cam near leapt out of the car as it came to a screeching halt in front of OCD.

He felt a little sick as Harris pulled out of the drive with a flickering wave of his hand, carrying "Bullet with butterfly wings" down the street as Billy Cogran hollered out his windows. He rubbed his hair and made his way to the trailers, which were officially decked out in Fifa themed accommodations. He didn't really care much for showing up a whole bunch of girls—the little clique they had was pretty ridiculous—but he wasn't going to live the school year in a god damn jewelry box.

He set his bag down at his desk and wondered where Derrick was. Hotz was bouncing a football on his knee, Plovert plopped on one of the desks beside him. Kemp had turned away from the teacher at the front and was, no surprise, playing Pokemon on his laptop. Cam would have joined him, if the teacher hadn't called him over.

"Fisher?"

"Yeah?" He asked as he scanned the room for Derrick. No such luck.

The teacher hovered around her desk for a moment, scrawling on a pass. "Do you mind running into the main building and finding Mr. Hollander? Tell him I sent for him about those books we need."

"Sure." He answered absentmindedly, but also a bit worried. The main building meant Massie and her pose of she-banshees.

But the teacher shooed him off, and he made an effort not to look as sullen as he felt.

The sky was gray, swathed in watery tumults of lugubrious clouds, some tenebrous looking as they bled into the horizon. Pigeons soared above him.

He hated the Pretty Committee—worse, he hated the freakish Olivia Ryan, who seemed to have gotten a nose job at the tender age of _thirteen, _then proceeded to stalk him from hell and back. With a quick glace around the hallway, he surmised most of his classmates were in homeroom, leaving him to steal down the hallway mostly unnoticed.

Fate would, of course, have him bump into Dylan Marvil.

Claire used to bemoan all the useless gossip and even more useless fears the PC, err, _NPC, _used to have. Apparently Dylan had this never ending fear she'd never be skinny enough. She also had bright red hair, an amusing amount of makeup for a thirteen year old girl, not to mention four-inch heels in a school for God's sake, and somehow managed to meld all of this together to create an image of a… well, a little girl trying to be a hell of a lot older then she actually was.

Cam might be a little cynical in his appraisal of her, however, considering she was obviously more then a little interested in his boyfriend.

"Oh!" She squeaked, and, admittedly, it wasn't an _awful _sounding voice. Not like Massie, anyway. "Sorry."

"Nah, my bad." He gave a quick glance behind his shoulder as she strutted off like a peacock with ruffled feathers, wondering what sort of foreign galactic planet these girls were from. Tatooine? And would Darth Vader be lopping off his hand while he was at it? Perhaps Derrick could be stolen by an enormous slug space gangster and he'd have to free him from his carbonite prison.

He stilled.

But that would make him Leia, wouldn't it?

"Oh, Mr. Fisher!" The teacher, a port, stoutly man, rummaged around the back of his desks and protruded the largest stack of books Cam had ever seen in his short academic life. Cue giggling.

Oh great. So this was where the NPC was lurking.

"You'll bring these guys safe and sound, right?"

He didn't even spare the girls a glance, lest he get Claire in trouble for making eye-contact during their boy fast. Evidently Massie would have some sort of conniption fit if anyone dared to get any action aside from her.

"I'll try." Cam joked, precariously balancing the tottering top stack before it fell clean over his head.

Maybe he was just the only kid in school _not _going crazy. Girls were obsessed with looking at least two decades older then they really were, and the guys were continuing a long fascination with Megan Fox's gigantic boobs and an incessant urge to 'hit that'. Was he the only one who was outraged the Packers won the superbowl? Celebrating that the Bruins won the Stanley Cup or that Maryland made it into the NCAA lax finals? Suddenly nukes were taking a back burner to these disturbing creatures called _girls, _the boys were lowering their AK47's and halting their kill streaks in favor of learning more about these barbaric space aliens.

Cam may have been overreacting, but he didn't understand how suddenly everyone's interests could unanimously shift in such an undesirable direction.

"You're only saying that because you've got _me_." Said Derrick arrogantly, smirk on his face as he met Cam halfway back and the dark haired boy had allayed all his fears.

Cam suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Then he suppressed the urge to look around fervently for watchful eyes as Derrick leaned over to kiss him right over the books.

"Someone's going to see!" He hissed, but Derrick had tossed the books to the floor—effectively damaging them in mud for life—and pinned him against the wall with a fierce kiss, biting at his lips and making his toes curl.

"No one's going to see." Derrick smirked, voice low enough to carry only to him. "You're being paranoid—

"Realistic, I'm being realistic!" Cam retorted, flushing. That wasn't to say he didn't enjoy it, however. He was a teenage boy, with an outrageous libido that flew clean off the handle and this strange wonton urge to _experiment, _though he had no intentions of doing so in front of the entire school. He grabbed the books off the ground—which was the majority of them—and gave Derrick an irritated glance.

"You could at least help, before you, you, _attacked_ me on my way over." He huffed petulantly, but Derrick surprisingly didn't protest. He simply took the books with those narrowed, smoldering eyes that unnerved Cam like no other, before sauntering off into the gloom.

Cam wondered vaguely if perhaps he'd done something to upset him.


End file.
